


heart made of glass, my mind of stone

by UnrememberedSkies



Series: Bad Things Happen Bingo [4]
Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Ableist Language, Bad Things Happen Bingo, Complicated Relationships, Disassociation, Gen, Nameless Bad Guy - Freeform, Recorded/Broadcast Torture, Self-Hatred, Torture, Vanya Hargreeves Needs A Hug, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-16
Updated: 2020-05-16
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:16:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24220444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UnrememberedSkies/pseuds/UnrememberedSkies
Summary: And now she’s here, tied to a chair with a broken wrist, fractured kneecap and a body full of bruises, whilst her siblings are out living their lives, happily ignorant and carefree. The tape is supposed to lure them here. Vanya thinks she’ll be lucky if her captor receives a thank you card from Allison’s assistant.Vanya's book is at the top of the bestseller list, and she finally has her moment in the sun. But not all attention is positive, and Vanya finds herself quickly reminded of her place.
Relationships: Diego Hargreeves & Vanya Hargreeves
Series: Bad Things Happen Bingo [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1691854
Comments: 12
Kudos: 254





	heart made of glass, my mind of stone

**Author's Note:**

> My first Vanya-centric fic! Written for Bad Things Happen Bingo prompt 'Recorded/broadcast torture' with Vanya and Diego, requested by Anon. As usual, you can come talk to me on [Tumblr](https://unrememberedskies.tumblr.com/). Fic title is from 'lovely' by Billie Eilish and Khalid.

“Smile for the camera, Number Seven.”

There is a sudden, blinding pain, as something hard and merciless connects with her kneecap. Vanya sucks in air through her teeth and doubles over as much as she can whilst tied to a chair. She looks up, through her hair which has fallen in front of her face, and sees the red flashing light of a video camera set to record.

She stares at it for a moment, into the lens, before ducking her gaze and focusing on her breathing. She hears footsteps as her captor crosses the room towards her.

“Come now, Number Seven. You’re going to have to do a bit better than that. How will your siblings know you need rescuing if you keep quiet?”

She knows he’s close, but it still takes her by surprise when he wrenches her head back by her hair, forcing her to look directly into the camera. She swallows at the strain on her throat, bracing herself for what comes next.

There is a long, painful moment of anticipation. Then, he grabs her hand, dangling helplessly at her side, and pulls it backwards until the bones groan and snap.

Vanya gives him what he wants, and screams.

* * *

Her voice sounds thin and tinny as he plays back the recording, and her captor smiles to himself whilst Vanya softly pants, slumped over in the chair. He’s making copies, and once he has four, he slips them into brown envelopes, and then disappears through the door, slamming it shut behind him.

He returns what Vanya estimates to be an hour later, although time passes strangely in this basement. Against her better judgement, Vanya chances a look up, and sees him watching her speculatively.

“I have to say, “ he says, putting his hands in his pockets and coming to stand before her, “I was worried you weren’t going to put on a show for me back there. Don’t tell me old man Hargreeves trained you to withstand torture, as well? Your book didn’t mention that.”

He pulls a dog-eared copy of her book from his coat pocket, flicking through it idly. It’s only been out a couple of months, hardly enough time for it to look so well-thumbed. But this man is clearly an avid reader of her work, her biggest fan even. It’s typical, Vanya thinks darkly, that the person who has read her book the most, who has been privy to intimate details of her life, is only interested in using her to get to her siblings.

Apparently they crossed paths during the Academy’s heyday, a diamond heist that had been foiled, and this bitter man before her had been left with broken bones from Luther, a missing chunk of ear thanks to Diego, and lifelong paranoia after being Rumoured by Allison.

Overkill, thy name is the Umbrella Academy.

And now she’s here, tied to a chair with a broken wrist, fractured kneecap and a body full of bruises, whilst her siblings are out living their lives, happily ignorant and carefree. The tape is supposed to lure them here. Vanya thinks she’ll be lucky if her captor receives a thank you card from Allison’s assistant.

She has a strange feeling in the pit of her stomach that has nothing to do with the pain. It churns hot and molten within her, and makes her feel nauseous with its intensity.

“Please,” she gasps, “I need my medication.”

The man glances up from the book, a look of irritation on his face. “What for?”

She almost snarls at him, and it takes her by surprise. She squeezes her eyes shut, tries to calm the lava in her stomach. “I need it,” she tries. “For my nerves.”

The man raises an eyebrow. “For your _nerves_?” he repeats, mockingly. “Jesus. No wonder they didn’t take you on missions.”

Vanya flinches, staring down at her knees until her vision blurs. “I need them,” she whispers.

Rough hands grab her chin, tilt her head up until she’s looking at him. He’s in his fifties, she estimates, thinning brown hair, a nose that has been broken more than once, a scarred over split in his ear, and a look of mania in his eyes.

“Listen, sweetheart. Position you’re in? You _should_ be nervous.”

Vanya swallows and lowers her gaze. The man gives a snort of derision and steps away. Out of the corner of her eye, she watches him take a seat in front of the monitors in the corner of the room. His eyes flick from screen to screen, brows furrowed in concentration.

Vanya watches him for a moment as he taps away at the keyboard, no doubt checking security cameras and setting traps for ex-superheroes who will never come. Because Vanya doesn’t think for a second they will. They are angry, angrier than she’s ever seen then. Allison’s words at the other end of the line still ring in her head.

_“Do you have any idea what you’ve done, Vanya? Or are you so wrapped up in your own misery that you can’t even see the damage you’ve done?”_

Vanya’s seen the awkward questions on chat shows that dim Allison’s megawatt smile, that makes her lips thin with displeasure. Vanya has seen how much it kills her to not be able to Rumour the hosts on live television to never bring up the book or its contents in her presence ever again. It must be strange for her, Vanya thinks, to be accountable. _Damage._ As if Allison’s career has suffered in the slightest because some book written by a nobody revealed her dirty little secrets to the world.

Diego was less diplomatic in expressing his displeasure. She had been at a book signing a couple of weeks ago, had barely even looked up at the next person in line, when two gloved hands slammed down on the desk, startling her. She’d looked up and seen Diego, shaking with rage, eyes filled with hatred. They’d looked at each other for a few moments, her silent with shock, him silent with rage. She’d seen one of the shop assistants make an aborted move towards the two of them, but no one came to her aid. She’d thought Diego might kill her there in the book store.

Instead, he’d leaned in close, so she could feel his breath against her face. “Fuck you,” he’d spat, more venom in those two syllables than she’d ever felt from him. Then, he’d banged his hands on the table once more, before storming out of the store.

The assistant had come rushing over, asking if she was okay. Vanya had straightened the pile of books on the desk, and looked up at her with a small smile. “I’m fine,” she’d said. “Sorry for the interruption.” The assistant had given her a strange look at that, but said nothing more. Vanya glanced towards the next person in line, and they came over.

Luther, she hadn’t heard from, had no idea if he’d even read her book. She couldn’t imagine he was pleased, she had been particularly scathing about his dog-like obedience to their father. Klaus... He was the one uncertain factor in all of this. She had gone no easier on him than the rest of their siblings, but Klaus had always let offence slide off him, most likely because he was too high to understand or care whether he was being insulted.

So all of her surviving siblings either hate her, or are in no position to launch a daring rescue even if they wanted to. Her captor’s plan to lure them here using her is so ridiculously flawed she almost feels sorry for him. He might have had more luck if he’d offered to let them join in the torture. She is going to die in this basement because this man fundamentally misunderstands the relationship between her and her family. Or lack thereof.

She is alone. No one is coming.

Five might have come, she thinks wistfully, then immediately chastises herself for daydreaming about someone who abandoned her ten years ago. Five ran out of that room and left her. When they’d talked about getting out of there, he had always promised to take her with him. But when it had come down to it, he had gone alone.

She wants to believe he would have taken her if he could, but if that is true, that means he didn’t have a choice. That means Five is dead. Thinking about Five being dead makes her heart ache in a way that can’t be dampened by the pills. But the alternative is almost as painful. Five left, and is living his life somewhere, without her.

She releases her breath in a shaky exhale. “I need my meds, “ she says quietly.

The man looks up from the monitors, an unreadable look on his face. He gets up and walks slowly towards her, and Vanya looks up at him in nervous anticipation.

“I fractured your kneecap, “ he says, lifting his foot up and pressing on the aforementioned injury with the toe of his shoe. Vanya grimaces, heartbeat thudding in her ears. “I broke your wrist,” he continues, grabbing her by the shoulder and jerking her forward, so her aching wrist pulls against her bonds. Vanya whimpers. “And all you care about is your crazy pills?”

Vanya tries to stop her lower lip quivering as she looks up at him. “If you give me them, I’ll stop asking.”

The man pulls an incredulous face, then gives a humourless laugh. “You are in no position to make demands.” He shakes his head, as though he can’t believe her nerve. “Your siblings will be here soon.”

It’s Vanya’s turn to laugh, although it’s barely more than a derisive huff of air through her nose. “You don’t get it, do you?” she says quietly. “No one’s coming. Nobody cares.”

The man scowls. “You’d better hope that’s not true.”

“I _know_ it’s true.” She shakes her head slowly, every movement deepening the pressure in her brain. “Did you even read the book? Would you give a shit about me if you were them?”

For the first time, the man looks uncertain. “They’re your family.”

Vanya smiles, and it feels foreign on her face. “I shared a house with them. That’s all.”

The man shakes his head in disbelief. “If you think this is going to make me let you go, you’re wrong.”

“I don’t think that,” Vanya whispers, “I’m just telling you, they’re not going to come.”

The man glares at her although she sees the way he is gnawing on the inside of his lip. He swallows before he speaks again. “If they don’t come, I’m going to kill you.”

Vanya maintains eye contact with him until he looks away. He hurries out of the basement, slamming the door closed. Vanya listens to his footsteps as he climbs the stairs outside. She closes her eyes, breathing in through her nose and out through her mouth.

She waits for death.

* * *

She dozes at some point, when she is left alone. Her exhaustion wins out over the haze of pain and she slips into a restless sleep. She wakes several times, never knowing whether it is day or night in this dim, windowless room. She is alone, until she is not.

The final time, she is awakened by a bucket of icy water upended over her head. She cries out in shock and pain, gasping and shaking. The man hurls the bucket to the side and grabs her by the collar, dragging both her and the chair she is tied to forwards. Her wrist screams out at the ill-treatment.

“You’re useless, you’re fucking useless!” he snarls, shaking her until she thinks she might vomit. It’s a sentiment that has been hurled at her on more than one occasion, but it still pierces her like a knife. No matter how often she hears it, she is never able to forge an armour strong enough to withstand it, never manages to build up an immunity.

She is useless, she is not enough, and suddenly she is a thirteen years old again, watching her brothers and sister save the world and receive the adoration of the public and the respect of their father. Now, she has her five minutes of fame and what does she get? And embittered criminal who want to use her to ensnare her siblings.

She will never be good enough. She will never receive any respect or even _attention_ based off her own merit. She will always be a footnote to her siblings’ story, even when she is the one writing the book.

She is brought back to the present by a heavy backhanded slap that sends both her and the chair she is tied to crashing to the floor. The world upends, she can see his heavy boots, feels them as they drive into her stomach. He is going to beat her to death in this basement. She is going to die, and no one will know. Or care.

She closes her eyes and braces herself for the next hit, knowing it is coming but not knowing where or when.

Only, it doesn’t come.

There is only a strangled gurgle from above, and then the thudding sound of a body collapsing. She opens her eyes a crack, and is faced with her captor, staring at her with wide eyes, blood dripping slowly from his mouth.

She is frozen with shock, unable to move her bound limbs even if she wanted to. Another pair of boots step into her vision. She barely has time to wonder whether it is friend or foe, before she is hurled upright. The sudden movement makes her nauseous again, and she swallows back vomit as she blinks up at the newcomer.

Diego stands before her, expression dark and murderous.

He has another knife in his hand, his first is embedded in the back of her captor’s neck. For one, hysterical moment, Vanya thinks he is going to kill her as well.

He leans forward and she flinches. It doesn’t go unnoticed. He looks at her, jaw clenched like he is trying to stop himself from saying something, then uses the knife to cut her bonds.

Feeling rushes back into her hands, and with it, an increase in the intensity of the pain in her wrist. Once she is free, and technically able to get up, he steps back, his arms crossed. Vanya doesn’t move, breathing through the pain. Once she has got it under control, she looks up at Diego.

“Aren’t you going to say anything?”

His lip curls. “What’s there to say?”

For some reason, his response makes her blush, and she feels foolish. “I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

She watches as he crouches down to remove the knife from the back of the man’s neck, and they both watch as his body jerks one final time. Diego wipes the bloody knife on his pants, before looking back at her. “Can you walk?”

She doesn’t think she can, but also doesn’t think he’d be all that happy about carrying her. Using her good hand, she pushes herself up from the chair in an attempt to stand. She mistakenly puts pressure on her injured leg and goes down like a sack of potatoes. Diego makes a move to catch her, but he is too slow, and she ends up sprawled at his feet.

“I just asked you!” Diego says furiously, crouching down beside her and hooking his hands underneath her armpits to haul her up into sitting position. Once he’s sure she can keep upright by herself, he snatches his hands away like he’s afraid of catching germs.

Vanya leans against the chair leg tiredly. “I didn’t think you of all people would come.”

If possible, Diego’s expression darkens further. “Trust me, I had a hundred other better things to do.” Vanya tries to keep her reaction to a minimum, but a twitch of her lips betrays her. Diego sighs, suddenly looking as tired as she feels. “Where are you injured?” he asks gruffly.

She hesitates, age old instincts telling her to downplay her injuries. “Left knee, right wrist, general bruising everywhere.”

Diego looks at her critically. “You’re gonna struggle signing all those books with a broken wrist.”

She feels anger, hot and unexpected, flushing her face. “Why are you here, Diego?”

To her satisfaction, he looks a little shocked at her outburst. But his expression quickly morphs back into anger. “You tell me, “ he hisses. “I’m minding my own business, trying to avoid all the newfound fame your little book has brought, when out of nowhere I get a tape addressed to ‘the Kraken’ and on it is you getting the shit kicked out of you. What is this? Some kind of publicity stunt? A way for you to cling on to relevancy?”

Vanya is shaking, she can’t help it, can’t stop it. She wants to get up and storm out of there, but her injuries prevent her from doing so. She tests her leg again, anything to get away from Diego’s furious expression. It buckles almost immediately beneath her and she leans back against the chair with a helpless sob.

“Why are you here?” she repeats, tears stinging her eyes. “Why do you care?”

Diego blinks at her, mouth working silently. He sits down heavily opposite her, next to the body of her captor. He fiddles with the knife in his belt as he speaks. “Because even though you think we’re the worst people in the world, none of us actually wants to see you hurt.”

It is a disconcerting moment of earnestness, and Vanya doesn’t know how to react. It is not enough balm to soothe the hurt in her soul. “None of the others came,” she says, sounding petulant even to her own ears.

“Allison’s in LA,” he says. “She called me as soon as she got her package. Said she was getting the first flight out. I told her to stay put, that I would take care of it.” He shuffles in his seat. “I can’t speak for Luther, but I’m not sure he even got it. Because I’m not Luther’s biggest fan but there is no way in hell he’d not come if one of us was in danger.”

Vanya swallow, looking down at her knees. “And Klaus?” she asks, not sure why she’s asking. Why she is still not placated by Diego’s words.

“Klaus is in hospital,” Diego says, face tightening. “He overdosed two days ago.”

Vanya looks up sharply. “What?” She blinks rapidly. “Is he okay?”

“He’ll live.”

Vanya closes her eyes, pushes back the nausea that has once again risen in her throat. “I didn’t know,” she says.

“Yeah, well. Maybe next time remember that we’re not just sitting back and laughing at the thought of you in pain, we’re probably just dealing with our own shit.”

Vanya curls in on herself, self-hatred blanketing her like a comfortable old duvet. He’s right, she shouldn’t have presumed. The world does not revolve around her, she is a blip on their lives. They do not spend so much energy in hating her.

“Hey!” Diego’s voice cuts sharply through her spiralling thoughts. “Can you maybe have this mental breakdown once we get out of here?”

But Vanya is gone, trapped in the prison of her own mind. The outside world seems to fade and blur, Diego becoming a shadow, dark and threatening. Her limbs feel heavy and trapped, like she is still bound. A sense of worthlessness coils around her, squeezing the breath out of her. She can almost feel the other functions of her brain shutting down, so there is only the abyss of self-hatred and despair, dragging everything else in like a black hole.

She feels hands on her, limbs wrapping around her, and they seem to burn. Her brain won’t send the signal to struggle, she can only passively accept what is happening. Her stomach churns as she is moved, carried in strong arms.

It is only when daylight hits her that her body finally reacts. She squints in the sun, vaguely registers its rays on her skin, although they don’t warm her like she thinks they should. Sensation starts to return, something to distract her from the abyss. Vanya tentatively starts to anchor herself in reality, can feel the soft thick material of Diego’s sweater against her cheek, can hear the cry of gulls overhead, can smell hot tarmac.

She is aware of being awkwardly shifted as Diego opens his passenger seat door and manoeuvres her inside with surprising gentleness, leaning over to do up her seat belt.

In the time that it takes Diego to go around the car and get in, Vanya has managed to get her eyes to open. She stares blearily at the rundown building ahead of them, all boarded up windows and peeling paint.

As Diego gets in, he leans towards her. “You with me?”

She tells her head to nod, and thankfully it does. She opens her mouth to speak, and it feels dry. “Thank you,” she says.

Diego shoots her a surprised look, his hand faltering on the gearstick. She watches the myriad of expressions that cross his face, before he lands on uncharacteristic uncertainty. He puts the car into gear and reverses away from the building, taking them out onto the road.

She is not expecting any response, so when he speaks once they are well down the road, it takes her by surprise. “You’re welcome.”

She looks at him, but he stares steadfastly at the road ahead. She settles back in her seat, feeling a little warmth imbue the cold abyss inside her.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed, please drop me a kudos or a comment, they really brighten my day!
> 
> Also, please pardon any weird typos/formatting errors. My laptop has gone kaput so now I'm doing everything on my phone. It's hard work.


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